tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-128949272024-03-07T17:45:26.948-07:00WandermuseLyn StClairhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13791942987180878221noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-71273358397614923292022-12-26T04:20:00.006-07:002022-12-26T04:20:38.666-07:00Boxing Day<p>On Boxing Day in 2003, I was trying to make funeral arrangements for my Dad when my phone charger broke. Dad had been ill for a while, but everyone thought he was getting better and his sudden death on Christmas Day was completely unexpected. Less than 24 hours after singing cowboy songs to him as he passed, I was still in shock when I found myself in the most dreadful of places: Denver's Cherry Creek Mall.</p><p>Holiday music blared, everything glittered and throngs of happy post holiday shoppers milled and shoved past me. I just needed to find the darn Verizon store, buy a charger and leave. As I made my way through packs of chattering teens, dodged strollers pushed by smiling parents, stepped around cooing couples and tried not to step on giggling toddlers…I started to get angry, thinking “my Dad just died, can’t you people just let me get out of here?”</p><p>My own question stopped me in my tracks. Suddenly, I wondered how many people I encountered every day were quietly making their way through some tragedy? How many were fighting for their lives at that very moment? How many were grieving a loved one? How many were worried about how to pay their bills? Were some afraid of losing their home or their job? What percentage were going home to a dying parent, partner, friend or child? Which of them had just been abandoned by a partner or spouse? How many would go home to emotional or physical abuse? Who among them would be unbearably lonely that night…or even at that very moment? How many were depressed and contemplating the value of their lives, or perceived lack thereof, as viewed through a broken heart or debilitating depression? What number of people were trying to get through life facing more than one of those things, simultaneously? How many were trying to just survive until tomorrow? </p><p>At that moment, in that ridiculous mall, among the hordes of cheerful shoppers, I made a vow to myself…to try to remember that what we don’t always know what is going on in someone’s life. When we are happy…someone is facing unimaginable tragedy. When our heart is breaking…others are joyful. Life doles out its various trials and tribulations at a different pace for each of us.</p><p>As much as I try, I don’t always live up to that vow. Sometimes I fail miserably. Admittedly, I took my imperfect humanity into consideration from the beginning when I promised to “try” (sorry Yoda, sometimes try is all we can do). It is easy to forget, to get caught up in our own battles and worries and heartbreak...and it is hard, often impossible, to tell who hurts. Out of sight, out of mind makes it hard to remember to consider the worries that may trouble the people we encounter and cut them some slack. Still, I try.</p><p>Every Boxing Day I am reminded of that moment in the mall when deep grief and a crowd of happy people helped carve into my heart one of the most significant philosophies of my life. Every Boxing Day I renew my vow and, during the 364 days between, I keep trying.</p>Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-27908372199685756942020-01-21T12:05:00.000-07:002020-02-03T07:05:57.123-07:00Baggage Claim<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So often we speak of emotional "baggage" as something undesirable, something to be left behind, abandoned. Recently, I have found myself rethinking that.<br />
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No one is free of regret…or innocent of mistakes. We are taught to "put our past behind" us…but in some ways, that might be leaving something vital out of the mix. Our past mistakes, bad experiences, poor choices and regrettable decisions are as much a part of us as the color of our eyes.<br />
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The "baggage" does not go away because we leave it behind…it follows us quietly and sorrowfully through life. Don't get me wrong, I don't think we should drag along the pain, anger, anxiety that these things cause. Rather, that we should embrace that part of ourselves with love and forgiveness…and OWN our part in it. Only by doing so can we learn to see the lessons those experiences offer.<br />
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I believe we are drawn to certain people (or types of people) because they have something to teach us about ourselves. What do we miss learning about ourselves when we try to erase a relationship because we, as the song says, "went down that wrong road again"?<br />
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It is easy to lump the pain and regret all onto someone else and burn the bridge between you, but sometimes that fire also consumes all the good that came into your life with that person. No matter how badly something ended…it always began with something beautiful.<br />
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Our mistakes do not, by default, define us. We CHOOSE what to define ourselves by. Some allow themselves to be defined by their tragedies…others define themselves only by their successes. To be whole, I believe we should choose neither…but rather live in harmony with our failures and in humility with our successes. It is in that balance that we find peace.Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-84871445194583676892019-04-15T16:00:00.000-06:002019-04-15T16:00:14.033-06:00Fun to RunAs an innate overachiever and being of the mind that there is ALWAYS a way to improve, I don't really tend to be "proud" of anything. Yesterday though, I was pretty darn happy with my ponies.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDphHCbrul6rUSJ4iXJW8y4Eeu3WPQa7mdmTnH9JErlydKuzmb00VLnGgIn9qKe0TnyG-N0R4-eF5jHp_k64IF_dNRP6fXdixDXroM4Q7JwO7GN8h6RpwPysbpNUH39y-nL2Bymg/s1600/IMG_0052+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="851" data-original-width="1280" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDphHCbrul6rUSJ4iXJW8y4Eeu3WPQa7mdmTnH9JErlydKuzmb00VLnGgIn9qKe0TnyG-N0R4-eF5jHp_k64IF_dNRP6fXdixDXroM4Q7JwO7GN8h6RpwPysbpNUH39y-nL2Bymg/s320/IMG_0052+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a>Due to Karma's injury, a tough Winter, my work, and life in general...they did very little over the past five months. Yesterday, I let them have joyful romp, then a couple of easy bareback walk/trot laps around the arena.<br />
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To my delight, Langley showed that he actually HAS been paying attention to some things that we have "discussed" in the past. Karma was good but I could tell she would have been happier to gallop around the arena, so I decided to get out of the box.<br />
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I opened the heavy arena gate from Karma's bare back then, still mounted, untied Langley. As we walked out between buildings, a wind-swept piece of trash tumbled by. They spun, snorted, but quickly calmed...and we headed up the outside of the horse pens. I wanted to let Newt join, so our first stop was the truck. From Karma's back, I opened the truck door. The door swung open, bumping Karma, then slammed shut due to the hill the truck was on. Neither horse flinched. I tried several times with the same result before dismounting to let Newt out. When I climbed on the tailgate to mount, Karma calmly stepped up and Langley waited patiently. Then off we went for a short bareback ride up the trail.<br />
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These are the first two horses I have trained. Karma had a fabulous start with her former owner but, because she was young, she'd had just had a few rides when she came to me. Langley, when I found him, knew nothing more than how to be led with a halter. His previous owner was afraid of him, so he had no other training.<br />
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We have had our ups and downs along the way, and I have made plenty of mistakes, but they have learned to do some pretty cool things (moving cows, jumping, tricks, flying kites, a wee bit of dressage for Karma)...even so, we all three still have a LOT to learn.<br />
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The simple things are the best, though. Being able to catch my Spring-fresh horses then, on a whim, head up a trail bareback on one while ponying the other, makes me indescribably happy.<br />
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(BTW...it is mud season, they were so dirty that I left clean spots on their backs in the shape of my butt and legs...but none of us minded a bit.)Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-192855985521433112018-07-11T21:33:00.002-06:002018-07-11T21:33:24.704-06:00"Union"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Union" (study)</div>
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Grizzlies</div>
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Oil on Gessoed Panel</div>
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24" x 12"</div>
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Recently, I had the remarkable experience of observing a pair of courting grizzlies. It was fascinating to see the changing behavior from their first day together to his fast exit 12 days later.<br />
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The sow is a bear I have watched since 2007, the first Spring she showed up as a COY with her mother and siblings. The boar, typical of grizzly males, was a wide ranging backcountry bear that left his territory to find his mate.<br />
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This painting was inspired by behavior I saw one morning during the "courting" phase prior to mating, when they are at their most affectionate. She sat across from me and he sat behind her...then they nuzzled one another. It was wonderful to see the sweetness between them.<br />
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It is the first of many paintings that I imagine will come from the time spent with these two bears.Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-706557629088241602018-07-02T08:57:00.002-06:002018-07-06T06:22:03.140-06:00No Peace for the Weary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This past Winter, a friend and I were wandering Parkadise. We crested a hill and saw paparazzi pointing cameras across the road. I looked up and spotted two coyotes above the road, perfectly camouflaged against the brush (though, perhaps I should say “imperfectly”, since I did see them).<br />
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My friend, who was driving, did not see them. I said “Stop! Coyotes!” and he kept saying “where?!” When he finally stopped, I dove out with my camera. My impression was that they were about to move and, sure enough, one of them stepped over the top of the rise, the other stayed for a moment…then it moved, as well.<br />
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Later, the friend I was with posted a photo of one of them and titled it “A Moment of Calm”. That was interesting to me, because “calm” was definitely not the word I would have used. As with many things, watching wildlife carries with it some “observer bias”. It is human nature that people have a tendency to see what they want to see...but, to truly appreciate wildlife as objectively as possible and learn from those experiences, you have to train yourself to step out of your own box.<br />
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One would expect these animals to move even further away from the pressure of the growing crowd of people…so what held them there? Did they have a carcass close by? The “shyer” of the two had a scar across its muzzle and was missing hair around one eye from previous injuries. Battle scars? It was mating season…and territorial disputes between canids can get ugly. Other coyotes were calling from the hills behind them. Perhaps a a rival pack? These two coyotes were also “resting” right in the heart of the Junction Butte wolf pack territory. Wolves protect their territory and, given any opportunity, will kill the much smaller coyotes. Just Northwest of where they lay, the wolves had been observed at their den. From the ridge where these coyotes lay, they could see in every direction…toward the calling coyotes to the South, toward the wolf den to the Northwest and toward the strip of pavement that was human “territory” just below them.<br />
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I did not see "calm", at all. I saw two coyotes trying to rest, surrounded by multiple threats.<br />
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The two songdogs moved again, to the West along their ridge, then lay down again even further from the road and growing crowd. The shyer one stayed close to its mate, but slipped over the hill almost out of view. From behind its sheltering sage, it watched the people warily…ears flattening. It was clearly NOT calm. The other one kept trying to sleep…but every few seconds, it would open its eyes at a loud voice, track the movement of a human, noticeably flinch at a door slam or sit up to look around. It would lay its head back down…only to be disturbed again within moments. Even when it would seem to close its eyes, one eye was usually cracked open just a bit...always watching, alert, aware. They weren’t just paying attention to the humans, either. Heads turned, ears swiveled…they were wary of possible danger in every direction. No rest for the weary, here.<br />
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After they moved, their new “bed” was partially obscured by the ridge they were on. Though we were shooting from the human territory (aka “road”)…technically, we were too close. While the other photographers lined the road, I postholed my way through the snow, up the hill further away from the coyotes. Aside from giving them space, I wanted to get a different angle because I love painting feet and wanted be able to see theirs.<br />
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Alone, I would have climbed further back until they no longer seemed bothered by my presence, then sat quietly in the brush to see what they did. The crowd was growing, though, and the coyotes seemed increasingly uncomfortable. It was time to go.<br />
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No matter how “acclimated” or “calm” we may think wild creatures are in our presence…it is important to remember that WE are the greatest threat they face. Coyotes, in particular, may be the North American native species most relentlessly and inhumanely persecuted by humans. Americans have long waged full-on war against coyotes…most states have no limit on killing them and many communities hold “coyote killing contests”. Being shot is the least of their worries…crueler methods like poisoning, burning out dens, cyanide bombs, M-80s, snares, leg-hold traps, packs of hounds and even introducing mange into the population have been used in futile efforts to eradicate this native species. The USDA’s Wildlife “Services” alone killed nearly 80,000 coyotes in 2016, and some estimates say that 400,000 coyotes are killed every year. The same methods nearly wiped out gray, Mexican and red wolves…yet the adaptable and resourceful coyotes have actually increased their range.<br />
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The two coyotes on the hill may have seemed “calm” to some people, but if you paid attention, it was all too easy to see their unease.<br />
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The reality is that they are wild creatures suspended between threats. They are trying to find a balance between uncomfortable relationships with other predators and the teeming humanity pushing more and more into their shrinking habitat. I loved having the opportunity to observe and photograph them…but I know, deep down, that those coyotes would have been much better off to run from us…if they had anywhere left to go.<br />
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"No Peace for the Weary" (Study)<br />
Coyotes, YNP<br />
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Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-645339786978922042018-06-21T21:36:00.000-06:002018-07-11T21:37:24.418-06:00Hey Baby, What's Your Sign?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Home from an incredible couple weeks of work: time with collectors and friends (old and new)…plein air painting the Tetons as a storm rolled in, then plein air painting the elk refuge in pouring rain…a successful art event…and some brutally long days spent in happy wonder watching/sketching/photographing wildlife.<br />
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One of the most extraordinary experiences I have ever had observing wildlife began when I was fortunate to see a grizzly sow during the last hours with her 3 1/2 year old cub one evening…then, again, with her new mate the next morning.<br />
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*By the way, this is a sow that I have watched for her entire life, since she was one of a set of triplets born in 2007 (and I watched her mother for years before that).<br />
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*Now, before you feel sorry for the kicked-out cub, most cubs are kicked out at 2 1/2...this young bear had an extra year of life lessons and "mom-time" before being sent out on her own. That alone is remarkable. Now, back to recent events...<br />
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A few days later, I found the pair again and was able to see the snuggly “courting” behavior that started their day of feeding together while the sow seemed to be testing the fitness of her prospective partner. Shortly after that, I caught them “in the act” (no, not gonna be painting bear porn). Afterwards, they hung out together throughout the day. The next morning, I watched them mating again and then spending much of the day foraging in a field of wildflowers to the delight of everyone who saw them.<br />
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The following morning, they were not to be found…but, around midday, I had the good fortune to be in the right place at the right time to see the boar come thundering out of the deadfall alone. He galloped across the road and disappeared into the backcountry that he apparently calls “home”. Remarkable behavior to observe…and more incredible to have seen it go full circle.<br />
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Between bouts of watching the courting pair, I was able to watch the sub-adult start to experience life alone for the first time, getting her first elk calf solo and avoiding the pair (grizzly males may kill cubs when courting females).<br />
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It wasn’t just about bears, either…there were some very cool moments/hours spent watching birds, elk, bison, coyotes, and wolves.<br />
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Some of the best moments were lowering my tripod to "kid level" so young visitors could see bears (I love hearing their squeals of delight)....and showing another couple their first bears. It never gets old.<br />
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The days were incredibly long, the weather far from ideal, the showers far between, lol…but it was worth it.<br />
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I staggered home with dead batteries, full memory cards, totally exhausted, giddily happy and incredibly inspired!Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-29137563604828017162018-05-20T09:15:00.001-06:002018-05-20T14:01:04.672-06:00Survivors<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In April and May of 2009, I was undergoing radiation treatments following my cancer surgery. The doc had told me that the effects of radiation were cumulative, that I would get more exhausted as time passed.<br />
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The problem, for me, was that it was my favorite time of year in Yellowstone.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaknYvyFCdfDBM9zmpzxd6vyoZEAgm5EaBh4yQKPxMG8K_kcNnnCCeBaCGVyMzmLm5SNzS8jAR5BVFg65ilXWd2jSjIkIxl30j-G0mNCBoCAFZ4MciEYTMBSDiM_UEC0JQ-5MdAg/s1600/IMG_6558.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="777" data-original-width="396" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaknYvyFCdfDBM9zmpzxd6vyoZEAgm5EaBh4yQKPxMG8K_kcNnnCCeBaCGVyMzmLm5SNzS8jAR5BVFg65ilXWd2jSjIkIxl30j-G0mNCBoCAFZ4MciEYTMBSDiM_UEC0JQ-5MdAg/s320/IMG_6558.jpg" width="163" /></a>Typically, I would be spending most days during those months in the park, but radiation meant treatments five days a week in Bozeman. That wouldn't stop me from doing what I love.<br />
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Nearly every weekday morning I'd get up at 3 am and drive a couple hours into YNP to look for wildlife. Scheduling radiation as late in the day as possible, usually 4 pm, meant that I needed to be headed out the North Entrance by 2:30 in order to make the one and a half hour drive to Bozeman to get zapped. Afterwards, another half hour drive back home to set the alarm and crash for a few hours. Weekends were spent entirely in the park.<br />
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In the waiting room before my appointments, I heard other radiation patients tell tales of woe. One woman said all she could do after her appointments was go home and cry.<br />
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Meanwhile, I would come in giddy with stories of the bears, wolves and other wildlife I had seen earlier in the day.<br />
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One of the many animals I was watching that Spring was a playful young grizzly. She looked like she had not been out on her own for very long and was delighting the paparazzi with her antics.<br />
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In late April, I noticed that this little bear was limping pretty badly.<br />
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Apparently, she had experienced a “life lesson” with a porcupine and her right front paw was full of quills.<br />
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She would walk on her knuckles so she didn't step on the quills, and lean on her elbow to dig with one paw.<br />
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A paw full of quills could mean a death sentence to a bear…between difficulty foraging, crippled movement, and the possibility of infection. Quills don't "fall out". As I understand, they have to work their way THROUGH.<br />
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Still, she persisted.<br />
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As I was learning to deal with life under different terms, so was she. She was learning to dig with one paw and run on three. She was obviously in pain, but she hunted, explored…and played.<br />
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Through weeks of radiation, I kept doing what I loved and never felt the exhaustion or depression that seemed to be crippling other patients.<br />
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Hoping to share a little of the joy that buoyed me through it, I started printing photos to share with other patients and staff.<br />
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Shortly after finishing radiation, I saw the little bear again. She had moved miles away, across mountains. She was hunting, running and playing in a different part of the park. She still limped…but her skills at managing had improved greatly.<br />
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When I saw her in 2011, no one would have known that she’d been quill-crippled in the past. My sightings of her were rare over the next few years, as I tended to spend time in other parts of the Park and avoided the construction in her home range…but I heard stories about her.<br />
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Visitors tagged her with “names” and Bear Management fitted her with a collar and corresponding number. She had cubs, lost some, but she's figuring things out...and her current cub is starting its third Summer. (typically born in February, “third year” cubs are actually about two and a half years old).<br />
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This Spring, I've had several opportunities to spend time with her and her cub. She will probably kick that cub out in the next few weeks…but, for now, they are affectionate and playful. It seems she has taught her little one well. Recently, she dodged the advances of a boar and has been ranging across her large territory, as usual...delighting her fans wherever she goes.<br />
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Wild stories don't always end so well.<br />
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When crippled by quills, the bear didn’t feel sorry for herself. It is bear nature to deal with her new reality and simply carry on.<br />
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Human nature doesn’t always work that way...but I had made a choice long before "meeting" this little bear.<br />
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After surgery, I remember standing in front of a mirror and thinking “this is just what it is now”.<br />
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Chin up and carry on.<br />
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Nine years have passed since we first crossed paths. She has no sign of a limp and my scars have faded.<br />
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We’re both older, tougher, and (hopefully) wiser.<br />
There is no shortage of tragedy in either of our worlds,<br />
but she still romps and plays…and I am still laughing.<br />
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Against the odds, we have both survived.<br />
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<br />Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-75394591976532733952018-05-16T14:02:00.001-06:002018-05-16T14:02:25.133-06:00Field StudyingThis is just a glimpse into what the research for my paintings looks like.<br />
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Recently, I started condensed years of reference on to species-specific copies of iPhoto for easier access. One copy of iPhoto is JUST GRIZZLIES observed in the wild since 2003, when I started shooting digital. I have similar collections for other species, as well.<br />
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The images on the screen in the photo represent just a small fraction of around 250 "events" (folders) containing roughly 130,000 images of exclusively wild grizzlies (it says 160,000, but there are some duplicates). I'm still loading images...and haven't even started trying to transfer the video I was also shooting in 2003-5. These "events" are sorted by year, location, and by individual bears (or bear families, in the case of sows with young). There are certain bears that I have been watching for as many as 15 years.<br />
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These photos are the result of countless hours observing/photographing these bears. They don't include even more time spent with bears that I just watched or sketched. On top of that is the time spent "not" finding bears...studying their habitat and the other species they share it with.<br />
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As much as I love what I do, it isn't easy, it isn't a "gift" and it isn't "luck" (though I do get lucky, on occasion). It is hard work, sacrifice, investment (in time, gear, research, more), and simply paying attention to everything in the field. The hard days outnumber the great moments exponentially, lol...but, to me, it is worth it.<br />
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The photos do not come close to capturing the memories I have of time spent in the field. There is so much that could never be captured by a camera or sketch. Every time I look through a group of images, I relive the time spent with the subject(s).<br />
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If I chose, I could spend the rest of my life painting grizzlies and never leave the house...but that isn't why I do it.<br />
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All that time spent in the field has taught me more than I ever imagined about my subjects...and, yet, what I understand about these wonderful creatures is just a drop in the bucket. There is so much more to learn...<br />
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Mixed into every brushstroke of every painting are years of stories, memories and experiences with the wild creatures that inspire my art...Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-62795699660334000632018-04-24T09:24:00.001-06:002018-04-24T09:24:31.277-06:00Always Say "Never"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Painting" seems such a simple word to describe something that isn’t simple at all.</div>
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As artists, we try to describe everything…light, color, depth, dimension, perspective, life, weight, texture, liquid, fur, tension, metal, soul and so much more…with paint on a flat surface. No wonder artists seem mad as hatters, sometimes.</div>
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The thing I love most about painting? </div>
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You NEVER get “there”.</div>
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No matter how many paintings and drawing I have done (and that numbers in the thousands now)…I am still learning things and making discoveries. No matter how close I come to what I want to describe with my medium…there is always something more to work toward.</div>
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Lately, it seems as if every painting is teaching me something new and different. That is a pretty heady feeling...simultaneously inspiring and overwhelming. One of the way I keep things “fresh” is to keep multiple paintings going. When one needs time to dry (or my mind needs a break), I can dive into another. Currently, there are five “in progress” paintings staring back at me from the easels in my livingroom/studio (some so different that I have two palettes set up).</div>
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Starting back into this one after a break, I noticed my favorite brush of the moment was failing, losing bristles and looking like someone had been scrumbling paint onto a panel with a little too enthusiasm (who? me?). I thought, “maybe it is time to break down and buy some of those dreamy Rosemary brushes that have been on my wish list for some time”. Then my scruffy old brush showed that it still had something to give…and something more to teach me.</div>
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So when it comes to figuring it all out as an artist...I will always say "never".</div>
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Still craving a handful of Rosemary brushes, though…</div>
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(Untitled)</div>
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DETAIL of a Work in Progress</div>
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Oil on Cradled Panel</div>
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16” x 16”</div>
Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-68928169736568122112018-03-29T09:58:00.002-06:002018-03-29T09:58:50.334-06:00Spider Sensei<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A few days ago, I noticed a tiny spider had started hanging out in my soap dish. Rather than move it outside (my usual MO), I decided to live and let live. That, in turn, led to my being careful about respecting its space and valuing its life. I found myself fascinated.<br />
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Not wanting to crush the spider, I became aware of how I picked up the soap and put it down. At first, when I would move the soap, it would make itself as tiny as possible in the bottom of the dish. Now, it seems to “trust” me a little more. It holds its ground and goes about doing whatever a spider does in a little soap dish world...and I carefully replace its "roof" when I'm done. Last night, when I tried to take a photo, it waved its forelimbs in the air. Was that a threat...or a greeting?<br />
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I wonder what the world looks like, from its perspective. How do I appear in a spider's eyes?<br />
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In just entertaining that thought for a moment, I find myself even more respectful of its place in “my” world. Suddenly it becomes, instead, “our” world. The wee spider and I are sharing a bit of space during our relatively short spans of time on the planet. Spider has much less time here than I do...who am I to shorten that based on "my" version of reality?<br />
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How much better would the world would be if we spent more time wondering what things look like from other perspectives rather than judging and condemning based on our own fears and biases?<br />
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Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-7608741345119015152018-01-01T10:36:00.000-07:002018-01-12T03:30:14.252-07:00From Unspoken to Outspoken<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_HRlUuU9qVN9_plR2wL1_0SaaNfQWVwOkUMCgSsO96JhHj5W75MSSskR6JjY9FXqwVVkkAEq3_GhseP6a7zTOV00n2AoBQHLoEdy0v0kiofvq2P0u83tdSTXxRrF4LR1ndZGrbg/s1600/IMG_2235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="777" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_HRlUuU9qVN9_plR2wL1_0SaaNfQWVwOkUMCgSsO96JhHj5W75MSSskR6JjY9FXqwVVkkAEq3_GhseP6a7zTOV00n2AoBQHLoEdy0v0kiofvq2P0u83tdSTXxRrF4LR1ndZGrbg/s320/IMG_2235.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Over the past year or so, I have taken some hits because I have been more outspoken politically. That’s okay, in my own opinion, I have earned a few hits, not because I speak up now…but because I have not spoken up throughout my life.<br />
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I was raised in a home where politics went unspoken. As my Mom explains, she hates politics because her father and uncles argued politics ad nauseam when she was growing up. That would put just about anyone off politics. My great uncles were republican, but my Grandfather’s strong democratic beliefs earned him the nickname “Demo” as a young man…and he would go by that name for the rest of his life. That passion for politics skipped a generation.<br />
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We grew up rural, sheltered from the horrors of Vietnam and the Khmer Rouge. Watergate was not discussed, Ford was a joke on Saturday Night Live and Carter was a peanut farmer from the South. We did not talk about the fights for equal and/or civil rights. My parents loved teaching us about the past…but they did not engage us in the present. Ignorance is bliss...but only to a point.<br />
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It was not until I left home at 17, that I started to pay attention and my horizons began to expand. This was mostly due to my first husband. Before he was old enough to drink, Don knew more about world politics than most people ever will. Over the next decade of my life, so much would happen…and, though it did not come naturally (or nurturally), I started to notice. While Americans talked about MTV and Indiana Jones and personal computers, Islamic Afghan Freedom fighters would spend the decade fighting and dying until they hamstrung the Soviet Union. The Cold War that had plagued us since 1950 was coming to an end. Ronald Reagan was president over most of that decade and Nelson Mandela was serving his third decade in prison. Great and terrible things happened over those years. In 1989, I would paint “End Apartheid” across the front bumper of my truck in support of those fighting that terrible battle…meanwhile, across the world, the Berlin Wall would fall, the Exxon Valdez would spill 10.8 million gallons of crude oil along the Alaska coastline and hundreds of peaceful student protestors would be gunned down in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPeMrYs7afF9rnsNSi6xRoDJoaiCGeD2t3YyAHYqdeBaSeQHyrzl4Xuyx6lGlWEXNuInDX2sVzvDVG-N97C66Pa93k1qgE7gOotgUGOHvWK9K2EfN0iSyKZR4N-YaZ1qt7G6srZg/s1600/IMG_5138.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="777" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPeMrYs7afF9rnsNSi6xRoDJoaiCGeD2t3YyAHYqdeBaSeQHyrzl4Xuyx6lGlWEXNuInDX2sVzvDVG-N97C66Pa93k1qgE7gOotgUGOHvWK9K2EfN0iSyKZR4N-YaZ1qt7G6srZg/s320/IMG_5138.jpg" width="320" /></a>What I discovered when I paid attention, was a world of injustice that offended my innately fair-minded little soul and tore at my empathic little heart. Everywhere you looked there was something or someone worth fighting for. I was pulled in a dozen directions at once…outraged, overwhelmed, heartbroken and discouraged. I donated money, time and art…I recycled and voted. I wanted do more, though, like help clean birds by Prince William Sound. Instead, I told myself that it was better to give the world what I was “good” at by focusing on my art. In hindsight, maybe I was wrong.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivb-4vxoudsgLO2C50Tbl34wq1CVMalBWChWVs-Mh7f3DdMxs-pS412ZV-Te6nRtLkqvOZDrjcoinw_k4X_fRccX03Ws3lTqO2twwC4EmvIOv7sEX2_Ldjr-ZmP6DfGEWCHDAaoQ/s1600/19437733_1554243514588112_5418981531849292375_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="771" data-original-width="777" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivb-4vxoudsgLO2C50Tbl34wq1CVMalBWChWVs-Mh7f3DdMxs-pS412ZV-Te6nRtLkqvOZDrjcoinw_k4X_fRccX03Ws3lTqO2twwC4EmvIOv7sEX2_Ldjr-ZmP6DfGEWCHDAaoQ/s320/19437733_1554243514588112_5418981531849292375_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>The most important lesson I learned by going to DC last June was that we can and should be involved and engaged regarding the issues we are passionate about...and we can make a difference. Our politicians work for us and sometimes we need to hold their feet to the fire. It isn’t easy…it means researching the issues and learning to discern fact from fiction. It means stepping out of our comfort zone and delving into the things that worry or scare us. It means making an effort to think for ourselves and express our beliefs in a world that won’t always “like” what we think or, worse, will respond with hateful vitriol.<br />
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There are a lot of good hearted people who don’t get involved. Some don’t think they could make a difference. Maybe they hate politics...who doesn't? Some can’t be bothered to research issues...it gets overwhelming. Others don’t care because their own world seems “safe” and they just can’t relate to the troubles of others. It is easy to criticize social programs until your own house is on fire.<br />
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I may not have children…but I worry about the future of my niece, my nephews and all the children/young people who will inherit what we are creating (and destroying). What will we leave them? Will they have clean water and air and wild places to escape to? Will they be saddled with the crushing deficit that the GOP is creating to enrich the rich? Will they have opportunities for education and equality?<br />
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Most of us hate politics, or at least some politicians...but you don't have to like politics to be involved. Like it or not, the decisions made by politicians involve you. I would think any parent, grandparent, aunt or uncle would want to do whatever they can to protect the future of the children, nieces, and nephews grandchildren they are so fortunate to have and/or love. Our country is on fire, my friends...and we should all be grabbing buckets.<br />
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To those who would criticize me (or anyone) for showing interest or being outspoken about the issues that face us, I say this:<br />
the MOST patriotic and the truly American thing we can do is be involved, speak out, vote and sometimes (gasp) protest..<br />
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As a new year dawns, I am squaring my shoulders and preparing to continue passionately and compassionately speaking out and standing up for what I believe in…it is the American way and I am an American girl.<br />
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“Well, I won't back down<br />
No, I won't back down<br />
You can stand me up at the gates of hell<br />
But I won't back down”<br />
Tom PettyLynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-69941520696249515972017-12-26T07:50:00.000-07:002017-12-27T07:50:23.234-07:00Boxing DayOn Boxing Day in 2003, I was trying to make funeral arrangements for my Dad when my phone charger broke. Dad had been ill for a while, but everyone thought he was getting better and his sudden death on Christmas Day was completely unexpected. Less than 24 hours after singing cowboy songs to him as he passed, I was still in shock when I found myself in the most dreadful of places: Denver's Cherry Creek Mall.<br />
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Holiday music blared, everything glittered and throngs of happy post holiday shoppers milled and shoved past me. I just needed to find the darn Verizon store, buy a charger and leave. As I made my way through packs of chattering teens, dodged strollers pushed by smiling parents, stepped around cooing couples and tried not to step on giggling toddlers…I started to get angry, thinking “my Dad just died, can’t you people just let me get out of here?”<br />
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My own question stopped me in my tracks. Suddenly, I wondered how many people I encountered every day were quietly making their way through some tragedy? How many were fighting for their lives at that very moment? How many were grieving a loved one? How many were worried about how to pay their bills? Were some afraid of losing their home or their job? What percentage were going home to a dying parent, partner, friend or child? Which of them had just been abandoned by a partner or spouse? How many would go home to emotional or physical abuse? Who among them would be unbearably lonely that night…or even at that very moment? How many were depressed and contemplating the value of their lives, or perceived lack thereof, as viewed through a broken heart or debilitating depression? What number of people were trying to get through life facing more than one of those things, simultaneously? How many were trying to just survive until tomorrow? More than any of us ever imagine.<br />
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At that moment, in that ridiculous mall, among the hordes of cheerful shoppers, I made a vow to myself…to try to remember that what we don’t always know what is going on in someone’s life. When we are happy…someone is facing unimaginable tragedy. When our heart is breaking…others are joyful. Life doles out its various trials and tribulations at a different pace for each of us.<br />
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As much as I try, I don’t always live up to that vow. Sometimes I fail miserably. Admittedly, I took my imperfect humanity into consideration from the beginning when I promised to “try” (sorry Yoda, sometimes try is all we can do). It is easy to forget, to get caught up in our own battles and worries and heartbreak...and it is hard, often impossible, to tell who hurts. Out of sight, out of mind makes it hard to remember to consider the worries that may trouble the people we encounter and cut them some slack. Still, I try.<br />
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Every Boxing Day I am reminded of that moment in the mall when deep grief and a crowd of happy people helped carve into my heart one of the most significant philosophies of my life. Every Boxing Day I renew my vow and, during the 364 days between, I keep trying.Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-57864791953964750292017-11-28T08:01:00.001-07:002017-11-28T09:30:35.985-07:00Lessons in Less<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszZ_xYi26JoQNTrgnXxM7HCgm9c7H6fjDWoePwmR7jBCcvZt3D29ZyiEbednHgaN9qcl6gQ_MU420thopOPQLPO9RvX7iKBlp_djXubqY6Ed7xugA23UxQAiWOKnQhWTJSqPq4Q/s1600/Flying+Fawn+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="999" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszZ_xYi26JoQNTrgnXxM7HCgm9c7H6fjDWoePwmR7jBCcvZt3D29ZyiEbednHgaN9qcl6gQ_MU420thopOPQLPO9RvX7iKBlp_djXubqY6Ed7xugA23UxQAiWOKnQhWTJSqPq4Q/s320/Flying+Fawn+1.jpg" width="320" /></a>Among the new works I showed in Georgia were these three "Flying Fawn" paintings.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dgci0IWcmCr0taUKcViP1tLo1LHsykkSbEccsy3nCX9yPXWnlImmgcg2SnaUz8BsukvRSBPc0SugN1zVdg5JUJJ2_XOt_x3JUNqHnnKbxq7o4SuQwtMkpX1Tq5qG9M3cX6lIGw/s1600/Flying+Fawn+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="993" data-original-width="999" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1dgci0IWcmCr0taUKcViP1tLo1LHsykkSbEccsy3nCX9yPXWnlImmgcg2SnaUz8BsukvRSBPc0SugN1zVdg5JUJJ2_XOt_x3JUNqHnnKbxq7o4SuQwtMkpX1Tq5qG9M3cX6lIGw/s320/Flying+Fawn+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Originally, I had imagined a grouping of pieces that were a little different, a little more "finished". As I learned long ago, though...sometimes the journey is more important than the destination.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRg7LRRZMBidXJFhN3RsDK0mYlDTDj8Wd4Gq5XQMIGLZr3CJJOsuNlkHtxmg1JM7BFWmEaWDtr5bR5j5COrHzDrWoYKM1DPQ0Z1ehqknZvNfHBwL_jZJbVFLfZzoNzQ5UIcpyHbw/s1600/Flying+Fawn+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="999" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRg7LRRZMBidXJFhN3RsDK0mYlDTDj8Wd4Gq5XQMIGLZr3CJJOsuNlkHtxmg1JM7BFWmEaWDtr5bR5j5COrHzDrWoYKM1DPQ0Z1ehqknZvNfHBwL_jZJbVFLfZzoNzQ5UIcpyHbw/s320/Flying+Fawn+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I am typically drawn to chipmunk-cheeked Winter mule deer fawns…but these lanky Summer youngsters loitering near my house were captivating. I wanted to try to capture their seemingly effortless bounding.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGt-WJsbMwtRnO1dUd9fS4IDY3n73t1BFlk8DMJ28pvFge2PCtojaBtE8dmXY9wXhJuUm_pYaP2Yxa6_-pein9PtSGKEm1clC4y46mLtqn0oQ4aHKm-rojXAdMfb8n79QlEgj-Ag/s1600/9O6A3090+-+Version+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="904" data-original-width="904" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGt-WJsbMwtRnO1dUd9fS4IDY3n73t1BFlk8DMJ28pvFge2PCtojaBtE8dmXY9wXhJuUm_pYaP2Yxa6_-pein9PtSGKEm1clC4y46mLtqn0oQ4aHKm-rojXAdMfb8n79QlEgj-Ag/s320/9O6A3090+-+Version+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
These are all small-ish, 12"x12" or 12"x16". The background is the simple wash I toned the surface with before starting. It was not intended as the "finish", so it is imperfect...but somehow worked better than anything else.<br />
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Sometimes "perfect" is relative.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mKp7dIBB-AOODN1-sIZ2K9UCbanadjFajpO6YvsuXGtMDU0Z-WLBPn1y9jV9fIWHk8bECgyEaJS7IUOgXeYIQ_PMGV6mo0yiy_AfxtV7XwUJvU0vLAFKzk1SQquCHvuafic0kA/s1600/9O6A3075+-+Version+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="871" data-original-width="871" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7mKp7dIBB-AOODN1-sIZ2K9UCbanadjFajpO6YvsuXGtMDU0Z-WLBPn1y9jV9fIWHk8bECgyEaJS7IUOgXeYIQ_PMGV6mo0yiy_AfxtV7XwUJvU0vLAFKzk1SQquCHvuafic0kA/s320/9O6A3075+-+Version+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
As I started quickly scrubbing in the basic planes of the first one (the 12” x 12”)…something happened. It just “worked", painting it seemed as effortless as their bounding had been.<br />
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As my fellow artists know, they aren’t all effortless…far from it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-fNfPvAttyEIIMBM2zDMJEFK46Q_uJEtAOz_p0VXg5oNTt7DoOt3oNLB10bCfi3b_j54vxj9W4TpZoFHAclfdiTFtk-s8mDVWUgfSYJn7mNexm5TYDYwSdaIAQVsfa17GLxSIA/s1600/9O6A3075+-+Version+2+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="777" data-original-width="777" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn-fNfPvAttyEIIMBM2zDMJEFK46Q_uJEtAOz_p0VXg5oNTt7DoOt3oNLB10bCfi3b_j54vxj9W4TpZoFHAclfdiTFtk-s8mDVWUgfSYJn7mNexm5TYDYwSdaIAQVsfa17GLxSIA/s320/9O6A3075+-+Version+2+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
The second one bounded to life in much the same way…fun, loose.<br />
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It is easy to get caught up in the push toward your mind's eye version of "perfection"…much harder learning to stop before you go too far.<br />
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I suppose I could fix this or that. Soften an edge here and push the color there. Perhaps they could be better...but, to me, they “work” just as they are.<br />
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Anatomy, described by quick, thin, brush-scrubbed planes…thick, buttery highlights…and swashes of color.<br />
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Flying Fawns…as fun to paint as they were to watch.<br />
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The fawns didn’t find a home, but that gives me an excuse to play with a couple more before the next show!<br />
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(PS: Thanks to Walt and C.D., two of my art heroes, for noticing this trio and for the very kind words about them!)<br />
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<br />Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-67072200715060182202017-10-13T08:31:00.002-06:002017-10-13T08:49:20.286-06:00Pardon Me, but You have Something...<div class="p1">
We’ve all seen them…the adorable, fluffy “baby crow” (it is a rail), the “baby platypus” (it is a stuffed toy), the “petrified stump of the tree that would have been ten miles tall!” (it is the Jugurtha Tableland rock formation in Tunisia). Then there are the fake obituaries. Just imagine if someone was passing that kind of fake news about one of your friends or loved ones or your child. There are countless more out there…fake memes that are shared, reshared and sent on viral trips around the world. These posts die down and then resurface again and again. Tom Petty fake-died so many times that some people called his actual death “fake”.</div>
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Everyone gets suckered by a fake post now and then. Last week I posted a great quote, attributed to Thomas Jefferson. It came off the “Brainy-quote” site, so I assumed it was accurate…I mean, if they call themselves “Brainy”, shouldn’t that mean something? Within minutes, a friend debunked it. I double-checked, he was right, so I deleted the quote and PM’d him a<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“thank you”. I learned something new and one less fake post headed out into cyberspace.</div>
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Once in a while, I will try to gently and kindly point out to someone that the meme they shared is fake and explain what it really is. Never once has anyone said “oh, thank you!”. Rarely, if ever, do they delete the fake post. In most cases I am actually attacked, mocked or bullied…and it isn’t just me, I have seen it happen to other who rally for the truth. The original poster and their allies will often staunchly (sometimes viciously) defend their post, even in the face of evidence proving it false. Sadly, they are more willing to BE wrong than admit they were wrong.</div>
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Think about it this way: Someone pulls you aside before your first date or big presentation to gently say “honey, you have a big piece of spinach between your front teeth”. Do you chew them out and ignore them...or do you check the mirror, think “ewww, glad someone told me” and grab a toothpick?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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A fake meme or fake news story on your social media page is like a hunk of spinach between your front teeth (or worse). For every kind soul (and it IS kindness) who clues you in, there are hundreds who will just snicker behind your back or think “how embarrassing” or, worse, lose respect for you.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Why does it matter? Why SHOULD it matter? In a world where fiction is being taken for fact, we owe it to ourselves, if no one else, to seek truth. We need to learn to think critically...it is not that hard to do. Take a few seconds to fact-check your posts and give yourself extra credit for finding truth in an environment that makes it easy to mix fact and fiction. At worst, you save yourself a little embarrassment...at best, you learn something new.<br />
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You think you “don’t know” how to tell what is real?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Here is a simple tip. Before posting, sharing (or believing) something on the internet, google a couple of key words along with “meme”. You will get a pile of hits and can learn within SECONDS if it is true.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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For example, the “baby crow”: When that one first showed up, I knew it wasn’t a crow (having seen MANY baby ravens and crows), but I did not know what it actually was. I googled “baby crow meme”. Up came plenty of photos of actual baby crows, a dozen different versions of the fake baby crow…and several sites debunking the meme. Turns out it was a baby buff-banded rail (Gallirallus philippensis). That does not make it ANY less cute…and, bonus, I learned something new.<br />
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A darker example: A few months ago a meme was circulating among my far right friends with a photo of a<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Nazi, claiming it was George Soros. I didn’t know who Soros was, so I googled “soros nazi meme” and learned that the photo was actually of Oskar Groening (google THAT name, omg). Within seconds I learned that not only was Soros NOT a Nazi, but that he was a 9 year old Hungarian Jew when the war broke out. His story is the kind of thing that makes movie plots. Whether you agree with his politics or not, whether you love or hate his business practices…it turns out that his philanthropic projects have made the world a better place for many people. More good than most of us will ever do. In the comments of the posted fake meme, I said simply that the photo was not Soros but Oskar Groening. The original poster and several other artist friends laid into me saying “it does not matter, he (Soros) is EVIL!”. They reminded me of that Monty Python movie scene…”he’s a witch! ‘he’s a witch”. Their meme post had the opposite effect than intended…I gained respect for Soros and lost respect for everyone who defended the cruel fake meme. My bad, that wasn’t spinach in their teeth…it was much worse.</div>
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If you are not sure which “news” sites or websites are fake…again, just google them. There are reputable sites that rate the accuracy of information on the web and lists out there of websites that have been proven to publish fakes news. Note that I use the plural, there…not just one site…there are many sites that independently research this information.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> If a news item only shows on ONE website...that is good reason to be suspicious. </span></div>
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Example: Shortly before the election, a dear friend posted one of the horrific political memes. The meme was attributed to “the Denver Guardian”. So, I googled “Denver Guardian”, turns out the address for the Denver Guardian was a parking lot space…it was a fake site (confirmed by several articles). The "Denver Guardian" website and others like it had been traced to foreign sources who were making a lot of money playing Americans off one another. You share those posts and not only do you have spinach in your teeth for your wedding photo, but someone is making money selling billboards of it.</div>
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When it comes to politics on BOTH sides…sharing fake news and memes does NOT help your cause. You hurt it. People will think less of you, your stance and your party. Wanting to believe something and finding a supporting meme on the internet does not make it true.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The more fake memes people lob at one another (like primates throwing feces), the more divided we become. By the way, since I didn’t want to insult primates by that reference, I googled “primates throwing feces” and got this quote from Vanderbilt paleontology professor Neil Kelley: “Bored primates soon learn that flinging feces elicits a dramatic response from the humans outside the cage and that response is a strong reinforcement for a socially starved animal”. Seems my analogy was more true than I thought. What it boils down to is this…stop throwing poop at one another!</div>
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I have been wrong a lot over my years. What I have learned along the way, is that my best leaps forward in thinking, art, life…have come from screwing up, then admitting I was wrong and correcting my mistake(s). It hasn’t stopped me from making more mistakes…but that only means I am still trying, still learning, still growing.</div>
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As to correcting people…no one wants to do that, no one wants to risk being called “mean” (or worse) for trying, even gently, to point out the truth. No one wants to be the one who says “honey, you have spinach in your teeth” (that is almost as bad as finding out you had spinach in your own teeth AFTER the big date). More often than not, people tell you the truth because they care enough to want to save you from embarrassment or teach you something of value. </div>
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When someone does offer a correction, even if you don’t have it in you to be gracious, at least try not to be mean. Even when the truth hurts, I am grateful for those who offer a respectful, constructive, accurate correction…for they are helping me become a better person.</div>
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Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-86741588398168272052017-08-25T09:50:00.000-06:002017-08-25T17:10:38.055-06:00Spin<div class="p1">
With everyone fighting over statues and monuments…perhaps we should take a hard look at the elephant in the room. It isn’t entirely racism and it isn’t about loss of heritage or erasing history. It is about spin.</div>
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My parents were history fans, especially my dad. Our Summer vacations meant trips to the battlefields, monuments, and Southern historical sites like Monticello and the USS North Carolina. They dragged us around the region to anything and everything they could show us...along with lessons about what these places meant to both sides.</div>
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To this day, I love history and deeply believe that we need to remember our history so we can learn, heal and measure our progress forward. So, when the issue of confederate monuments first came up, I was on the fence. As an artist, as a history buff, as a Southerner, as an American and as a compassionate human I wondered how we should handle these statues, if removal was for better or worse. Then I started reading.</div>
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Innate curiosity meant that my understanding of our history only deepened after graduation. Howard Zinn and James Loewen shone light on the rewriting of history that took place long before I opened my first book. Recently, despite wild rants from both extremes, I have learned even more about the true history of a treasonous war that pitted brother against brother…and of the monuments left in its wake.<br />
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It is more politically correct to think the Civil War was about states’ rights but, if you read the actual declarations of secession, it is clear that the Southern states were fighting to keep slavery. Why is that? A relatively small portion of Southerners were slave owners (estimates vary between 20 and 32% overall, less in some states more in others), so why did so many join the fight for the rights of comparatively few?</div>
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The majority of Southern whites did not own slaves and many were against it. So why were they willing to die, to fight, even against their own families, to protect slavery? Spin. The rich slave owners told them that they would lose their jobs, their land, their homes and their way of life to blacks if the North won and slaves were freed.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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It wasn’t just the slaveowners, either. Southern religious leaders threw in to the mix. The Methodist Episcopal Church, South, claimed that slavery “has received the sanction of Jehova.” Southern Baptist Reverend Richard Furman taught that the holy scriptures sanctioned the right to hold slaves and that “every Negro…will be the equal of every one of you. If you are tame enough to submit, abolition preachers will be at hand to consummate the marriage of your daughters to black husbands.” Pastor Dunwoody of South Carolina said “god has authorized the practice of slavery…therefore, slavery is not a moral evil.” Presbyterian Robert Lewis Dabney told his fellow clergy to use the Bible to explain slavery. “We must go before the nation with the Bible as the text, and ‘thus sayeth the lord’ as the answer…the abolition party will be driven to unveil their true infidel tendencies.” </div>
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Again, sound familiar?</div>
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THIS is why we need history…so it does not repeat itself.<br />
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That said, we do NOT need revisionist or apologist history. We need to understand the real reasons why countless Americans died to protect the rights of the wealthiest among them and how that relates to what is happening right now. We need history so we can look critically at the motives behind our current political and spiritual leaders, so we can learn to recognize who actually benefits when we are being played against one another.</div>
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Many of the monuments in question were created not to honor, but to divide. They were built so people would continue to rally behind a false ideal…against their neighbors, their family and their fellow Americans. When we fight over monuments that were purposely created to further divisiveness, we only deepen the divide…even worse, we miss what is really going on.</div>
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While people come to blows over statues, our REAL, irreplaceable monuments and natural resources are under fire. While we call one another names, laws are being created to take away what we have worked for and put it into the pockets of a very few. While some lobby for walls to keep out the workers who do the jobs we don’t even want, the jobs we DO want are being sent overseas by corporations. While Americans complain about a minuscule percentage of our tax dollar going to programs for healthcare, arts, education…a large portion of our tax dollar goes to corporate subsidies and monumental tax breaks for the wealthiest few.</div>
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Americans worry so much about the threat of “others”…other religions, other races, other ideologies. In fact, we are our own worst enemies. We fight amongst ourselves rather than coming together to create something better. If Americans supported our own, if we voted for laws that helped small businesses to succeed rather than supporting subsidies for corporations, everyone would be better off. If we open our hearts and borders to the immigrants that have been the very fabric of our nation since the beginning, we are ALL better off. If we supported programs that give opportunities to people who have few or none, it would lift us ALL up. If we supported education to raise standards rather than lazily grading to the lowest common denominator, we would ALL benefit.</div>
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We need to stop pampering our delicate egos and look at EXACTLY why that war happened, to understand its true history rather than the spin. We need to be outraged by how we are being similarly manipulated to this day. It isn’t the Mexicans, Jews, Blacks, LGBTQ, Muslims or any other “OTHER” that threaten our way of life, it isn’t the wealthy, either…it is our own refusal and/or inability to convert lessons from our own history into critical thinking regarding the manner in which we live, learn and VOTE.</div>
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</style>Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-2319403540358870562017-07-04T07:09:00.004-06:002017-08-13T20:12:31.559-06:00These Boots are Made for Washington - Part 5<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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At last…hello, Mr Lincoln.</div>
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My dear friend Paula was kind enough to pick me up after I arrived in DC. First, I wanted to see the Jefferson memorial as inspiration for a previous post (Part 2), afterward we wandered through the Museum of the American Indian until it closed and then made our way toward the Lincoln Memorial.</div>
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Hilariously, we could not get there. Paula’s GPS sent us past it and over the river to Arlington and another try sent us past it again. We could not find parking, not even a sign for parking reasonably close. I pulled up the directions on my iPhone…and no better luck. We crossed the river at least 8 times and still were no closer to Lincoln. We were chatting, laughing and I’d wave at Mr Lincoln every time we passed. I kept saying “maybe there’s a reason…”</div>
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Eventually we found parking near the Martin Luther King Memorial, another of my favorite Americans. We could see Lincoln from there, not a far walk…but something in me said “no, not now”. So we visited Dr King and then went to dinner. I’d try again to see Lincoln before I headed home.</div>
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Lincoln’s statue is sculpted from Georgia marble and his likeness is, appropriately, larger than life (by three times). He gazes out across the reflecting pool toward the Washington Monument…but when you stand there, it feels as if he is looking right into your eyes, into your soul. His gaze seems at once benevolent and challenging.</div>
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“It is the quality of revolutions not to go by old lines or old laws; but to break up both, and make new ones.” Abraham Lincoln</div>
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Mr Lincoln was far from perfect (and a bit of a tyrant, in some ways), but he believed that the country belonged to the people. It is fitting that this spectacular memorial to one of our greatest Presidents has also been the site of many demonstrations and protests. Probably the most notable was in 1963, when hundreds of thousands of African Americans and their allies gathered peacefully in support of civil rights. On the stairs below Mr Lincoln, Dr Martin Luther King gave his “I Have a Dream” speech…his voice booming out over a crowd that stretched from Lincoln to the Washington Monument.</div>
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The morning after our failed attempt to visit Mr Lincoln, Paula sent me a news article. Apparently, when we were trying to find Lincoln, he had already been found by the infamous Richard Spencer and a group of alt-right, white nationalist, right-wing activists. Around 300 of Spencer's followers demonstrated without incident earlier in the day, but it would have dampened my spirits to run into any stragglers. In my opinion, they are almost the polar opposite of men like Dr King and Mr Lincoln.</div>
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Here’s the thing, though: while I do not agree with Spencer’s views on ANY level, I support their right to PEACEFULLY demonstrate…even on those iconic steps under the kind gaze of Mr Lincoln. I may be grateful that I didn’t see that group of angry white guys, but they have as much right to be there as Dr King did and as I do. I am horrified by what they say, but I believe in their constitutional right to say it as long as it does not turn to violence. If I don’t want to hear it, all I have to do is walk away.</div>
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My last day in DC, on the way to see Mr Lincoln, I came across a demonstration in the park in front of the Capitol. Intrigued, I watched as speakers rallied the sign-waving crowd. People in business attire passed through, some pausing to watch. A dread-locked man on a bike with loudspeakers attached to the handlebars held his own one-man commentary/protest. Foreign visitors mixed among the Americans. Women dressed as handmaids prepared to circle the Capitol. Tourists with children stood beside and among the protest crowd, all gathering in a line to view the arrival of the Vice President. Members of the press stood alongside individuals armed with smaller cameras from all over the country (and world), everyone pointing lenses in different directions. People explained to their children or one another what they thought was going on. Senators were coming and going and the Vice President was about to arrive. At the top of the Capitol stairs, snipers stepped into place (to protect the VP, I assume). Capitol police, some more patient than others, kept the protesters, tourists and playing children in line. As lawmakers came and went, then again when and the Vice President’s limo appeared, protesters chanted or yelled “shame!” and “shame on you!”. This peaceful mix of tourists, foreigners, business people, demonstrators, homeless, press, lawmakers, children, police and world leaders is something you would never see in many countries.</div>
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“I hold it that a little rebellion now and then is a good thing, and as necessary in the political world as storms in the physical.” Thomas Jefferson</div>
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When I came home from DC, one of the first things that popped up on my FB feed was the NRA video that appears to incite violence against protesters, demonstrators and liberals. This faction of the far right seems to have forgotten that we are a nation that rose out of revolution. Many of our patriotic heroes were, in fact, protesters (Tea Party, anyone?). Throughout our history, protests and demonstrations, some peaceful and some not, have called attention to problems and sparked changes that we often take for granted today.</div>
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From little girls who fought for the right to play “boy” sports to massive civil rights marches, Americans have a proud history of speaking out against opinions and laws that exclude or hurt members of our society. Demonstrating for change or protesting injustice does NOT mean you are against your Country.</div>
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“This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the existing government, they can exercise their constitutional right of amending it…” Abraham Lincoln</div>
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The First Amendment to our Constitution promises that “Congress shall make no law…abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.” In apparent defiance of those words, the NRA’s video seems to be suggesting gun-owners take aim at demonstrators, meanwhile the current President has attacked the press and incited violence toward his detractors…even posting videos of himself beating up a “member of the press”. When a Republican congressional candidate in Montana body-slammed a reporter into the ground, some of his party members cheered and then they sent him to Congress instead of jail.</div>
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We all need to take a deep breath and really consider what it means when our leaders target and undermine the First Amendment. When our rights to peacefully assemble, to a free press, and to freedom of speech are endangered, the whole thing starts to crumble.</div>
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“We the people are the rightful masters of both Congress and the courts, not to overthrow the Constitution but to overthrow the men who pervert the Constitution.” Abraham Lincoln</div>
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When I have written about standing against the cruel GOP healthcare plan, most of you have been supportive (for which I am grateful). I have also been criticized, though (that was particularly evident when I looked at some of the comments on Senator Tester’s posted video of our chat). People I considered friends have attacked me for being a “worthless liberal” or “pushing my Democratic agenda”.</div>
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The truth of the matter is, I am neither Democrat nor Republican…I am a lifelong Independent, and a moderate one at that. My political decisions are not made by party line, but via critical thinking and a little soul searching. Sometimes I swing left, on occasion I lean right but the vast majority of the time, I am somewhere in the middle. I am a defender of private property and a champion of public lands. I am a gun owner that believes in the 2nd Amendment…but I would register a BB gun if I thought it would save the life of ONE child. I respect ethical hunters and prefer game to grocery…but rail against poaching and the cruelty of trapping. I am an ardent supporter of the free press…but don’t believe everything I read (check those facts, baby). You get the idea. I am willing to pay taxes for things that don’t always benefit me, because I believe we are part of a society and it isn’t all about me. I love my country with a passion…but also believe in my right to protest...in OUR right to protest.</div>
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Dissent does not hurt this country as much as complacency and apathy. Too many “reality” shows and “memes” have muddied the water. A large number of people no longer see clearly and, sadly, aren’t willing to look behind the curtain to discern fact from fiction for themselves. Sadder still, people try to dismiss or forget the history we need to remember. We are most at risk when we abandon critical thinking to blindly follow a leader or a party. The worst kind of politicians know this and take advantage by discrediting the press that seeks to call them out, playing on our exhausted disillusionment, and hyping the divide between us to promote violence against one another.</div>
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“America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves.” Abraham Lincoln</div>
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Among my friends are Republicans and Democrats, right-wingers and lefties, straight and gay, rich and poor, myriad races and a plethora of religious affiliations (or lack thereof). No one is “wrong” or “bad” simply for having a different opinion, party, leaning, belief system, sexual orientation, skin color or bank balance. The magnificent diversity of this country is our greatest asset…and, different as we may seem, we all want essentially the same things. Rather than building walls to defend and isolate our differences, we should be having heart to heart, face to face conversations. Perhaps we could find our common ground and then work together to create something better for all of us.</div>
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“We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.” Abraham Lincoln</div>
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After I left Mr Lincoln, I caught a cab back to the hotel. My driver was an African American gentleman who had been piloting DC cabs for over a decade and we had a great conversation. When I said I came to DC to talk to my senators about healthcare, he asked “are you an activist?” That word has such a negative connotation that I automatically laughed a little and said “no, just an artist from Montana”. As we approached Arlington, he said “nothing wrong with being an activist”. He was right. I looked out at the rows of white memorials for people who died for those rights outlined in our Constitution and solemnly replied “I guess I am an activist”.</div>
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The Constitution of this great country promises that every one of us should have the equal right to participate, vote, speak out and stand up for what we believe in. The most empowering aspect of my trip to DC was the visceral reminder that we can be, and SHOULD be, an active (or activist) part of OUR government.</div>
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“My dream is of a place and a time where America will once again be seen as the last best hope of earth.” Abraham Lincoln</div>
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Happy Birthday, America.</div>
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Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-50546303451569277132017-06-28T11:24:00.000-06:002017-07-04T11:25:06.863-06:00These Boots are Made for Washington - Part 6<div class="p1">
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Ahhhh...home.</div>
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1, 2, 3, 4...6?</div>
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Yeah, I know...I skipped one. On purpose, not just because I have been up since 1:30 AM Montana time. ;-)<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Part 5 is coming...but it will take a little time to process the past few days.</div>
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The one thing I do want to say is THANK YOU. Thank you ALL for all the kind, supportive and rallying words. It was a busy few days so apologies for not responding to every comment, but know that I read every one...more than once.</div>
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So grateful for you all...and grateful to have had a chance to go to DC and try to be a part of the system in a country I love dearly! Hope it made even a small difference.</div>
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The vote was only delayed...so the fight is not over. The ACA isn't working for everyone...but this BCRA is far worse on so many levels. We need a bi-partisan plan that addresses issues of concern for ALL of us.</div>
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Please, please call your senators and ask them to vote "no". They may not show up for a meeting (like @stevedaines), they may not even answer the phone...but leave a message if you have to or send an email. Your input DOES matter and IS heard. If they don't do their job...then vote them out.</div>
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Thank you to Chelsia A. Rice and the American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network - ACS CAN for giving me the opportunity to try to make a difference!</div>
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Thank you to everyone who called Senators (Don't stop!!!)</div>
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Last, but not least, a shout out to Senator Jon Tester: thank you for being a voice of reason and for taking the time to listen.</div>
Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-15657276318314389272017-06-27T11:35:00.000-06:002017-07-04T11:47:07.467-06:00These Boots are Made for Washington - Part 4<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Having a very Capra-esque kind of day...<br />
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Attended a press event were I saw MY amazing Senator, Jon Tester, speak out passionately against the BCRA. Senator Tester gave me a shout out and an interview afterward. I'm told that a short video will be posted of us on Senator Tester's page.<br />
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I was also interviewed by a gentleman from Radio Télévision Suisse...so I've gone international, lol.<br />
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Senator Daines was not available (surprise...not), but I met with a staff member and will be meeting with Senator Tester's office shortly! Thank you all for following along!</div>
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Thank you, Senator Jon Tester!!</div>
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</style>Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-43276813847637942122017-06-26T07:40:00.003-06:002019-07-04T07:17:23.477-06:00These Boots are Made for Washington...Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1">After arriving in DC, I needed a little inspiration from one of my favorite founding fathers. My friend Paula and I braved the Summer Sunday crowds so I could stand in the Jefferson Memorial and read these words:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, that to secure these rights governments are instituted among men...”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Over time, the interpretation of great ideas and eloquent words can change. Though it wouldn’t appear so to contemporary Americans, Jefferson’s “equality” was exclusive and did not apply to people of color, the disabled, or even women.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Jefferson wasn’t actually thinking of “all men” when he wrote those words…he was an 18th century slave owner, after all. It would be almost 100 years before the 13th Amendment became part of the constitution to ensure “neither slavery nor involuntary servitude… shall exist within the United States.” </span></div>
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The 15th Amendment, ratified in 1870, made it illegal to deny the right to vote based on "race, color, or previous condition of servitude”. Despite that, it would take another 95 years before African Americans would be eligible to vote in 1965. Two hundred years had to pass before Jefferson’s words applied to black Americans. It was not easily won, tensions are still high and even now “equality” is often more theory than practice.</div>
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<span class="s1">Women had been organizing to fight for basic rights since around 1840, but were overlooked by the 15th Amendment. It would take an additional 50 years before the 19th Amendment “gave” women the right to vote in 1920, it “only” took 80 years or so for that battle to be won. One hundred forty-four years had to pass before before Jefferson’s words started to apply to women…and 240 years later, most women still earn less than their male counterparts doing the same job.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Some estimate that 90% of Native American peoples died from diseases brought by the Europeans who “discovered” the Americas. Then the new guys tried their best to relocate, assimilate or kill the remaining original Americans. Congress didn’t even “grant” citizenship to America’s remaining First People until 1924. Despite being targeted for genocide and the countless treaties broken by the the US government, Native Americans have a proud warrior tradition of volunteering, fighting and dying for this country. Using the very languages their own country was actively trying to eradicate, Native American Code Talkers were invaluable in WWI and WWII. Even so, they were not eligible to vote in some states until 1957 and were not recognized for their efforts in the war until 2001.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVew9P9Ti_U0PwsrcdZ5tg2miVFLu7_dMBfleOaFdpowWHNgRvfbN2Uqbwd3hzFBnVL63c9iCdKFuhjccCSds4L7DWN75gbAEnkmyFGfwOsAZ_750_-lFwCjvuK4q2hjq1fi58A/s1600/IMG_2215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="628" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVVew9P9Ti_U0PwsrcdZ5tg2miVFLu7_dMBfleOaFdpowWHNgRvfbN2Uqbwd3hzFBnVL63c9iCdKFuhjccCSds4L7DWN75gbAEnkmyFGfwOsAZ_750_-lFwCjvuK4q2hjq1fi58A/s320/IMG_2215.jpg" width="157" /></a><span class="s1">Considering that we are a nation built by immigrants, equality for immigrants has always been a hot topic. Jefferson, who believed immigration was a fundamental right, didn’t like Germans. Hamilton, an immigrant, was anti-immigration. Nineteenth century Americans hated the Irish and Californians pushed for the Chinese Exclusion Act (passed in 1882). Next came a 1917 Act barring citizens of Asian and Pacific nations (except for Japan and the Philippines). In 1924 immigration quotas were set, aimed at limiting Italians, Greeks and Eastern Europeans. Mexicans were first targeted in the early part of the 20th century…and, with WWII, the Japanese and Jewish refugees got their turn. Things changed for a while when John F Kennedy reframed our identity as a “nation of immigrants” and no group was targeted for about a half century. After 9/11, though, restrictions were established for certain Arab and Muslim countries (even these restrictions were determined not so much by who was responsible for 9-11...but by political, financial and racial biases). Despite historical evidence that border walls don’t last, the newest President has promised a wall along our Southern border and has tried to ban immigrants from select countries (this from a child of immigrants who married immigrants). Immigration has always been okay for “us” but not “them” (the definition of “them” just keeps changing).</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Jefferson is rumored to have had an affair with one of his African American slaves, but interracial marriage was not legal until 1967. That changed, not with loving kindness, but with the Lovings. Mildred and Richard Loving were dragged from their bed and thrown in jail in 1958, for the heinous crime of getting married…because Mildred was black and her beloved was white. Interracial marriage was considered taboo, unnatural and "against God" by many. The ACLU took the Loving case to the Supreme Court and, in 1967, it was determined that laws banning interracial marriage were unconstitutional…Loving won. It ‘only’ took 180 years for this facet of the pursuit of happiness to be realized for couples of mixed race. The fight for loving wasn’t over, though. In 2015 the Supreme Court finally ruled that Americans had the right to marry someone of the same gender, but the battle continues for the equal rights of LGBTQ Americans to be recognized.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">The Jefferson Memorial was built during the administration of Franklin D Roosevelt and the quotes immortalized on the monument were chosen because they appeared to support the ideas behind FDR’s New Deal. Jefferson probably wouldn’t have been happy about that. In part because the quotes were edited to "save space", but also because one of the missing parts addressed the right to revolution, which Jefferson believed to be the whole point.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Paralyzed by polio at 39, Franklin D Roosevelt used a wheelchair throughout his presidency and went to great effort to conceal his disability. At that time, it was common for disabled people to be hidden away from view (to put it nicely). Many were permanently institutionalized. At best, they were severely limited by their inability to access schools, jobs and transportation. As the United States’ first disabled President, FDR helped change the way we perceive disabled people…and how they perceived themselves. Even so, after he was elected, it would still take more than five decades of protests and legal action before the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed in 1990. Sure, people could vote from a wheelchair all along…but it took 214 years before they had the right to accessible public transportation for a ride to the poll.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">As is often the case, the people who crafted great documents like the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence had people like themselves in mind. Those two documents that define so much of how we see ourselves as Americans were written by older, upper-class, white men. The founding fathers were ahead of their time in some respects but they were also, inescapably, men OF their time. Consciously or not, their ideals were crafted with white men in mind. This is evidenced by the centuries of fights for the “inalienable” rights they outlined to be guaranteed for non-white, non-male American citizens…and the sad fact that we still have to fight for those rights.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I must admit, I've always had a little crush on Jefferson (that brilliant, silver-tongued devil)...but, I came to DC a little miffed at him. I mean, "what the hell, TJ? Why are we still arguing about all this?" </span></div>
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<span class="s1">Tonight though, my attention was caught by a quote on a different wall of the Jefferson memorial:</span></div>
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<span class="s1">"I am not an advocate for frequent changes in laws and constitutions, but laws and institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind. As that becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths discovered and manners and opinions change, with the change of circumstances, institutions must advance also to keep pace with the times..."</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In the 240 years since Jefferson penned those prophetic words, we have seen countless changes. Jefferson might be shocked by some but in most cases he'd be fascinated...I also believe he'd shake his head as sadly as I do about some of what is happening. Battles, discoveries, protests, reinterpretations, incarcerations, developments, deaths and enlightenment have resulted in 27 amendments to our Constitution….sadly, after all that, equality still eludes many Americans.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">This country rose to greatness on the shoulders of people of all races, all colors, all belief systems, male and female, immigrant, native and slave. It is our diversity that makes us great…and that makes it all the more unfathomable to me that critical decisions impacting the very lives of ALL Americans are still being made behind closed doors by a handful of rich, white, men.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">(*By the way, it should be noted that I have NOTHING against men that are old, rich, white or any </span>combination thereof...some of my favorite and most loved people are among them. I just don't believe that decisions affecting many groups should be made by one group).<br />
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</style>Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-35443110070222857892017-06-25T11:51:00.000-06:002017-07-04T11:52:33.089-06:00These Boots are Made for Washington - Part 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is 5 AM and I am sitting in an airport waiting for a flight. I already miss the morning birdsong serenade, view out my windows, my critters and the serenity of my home. In a few hours, this introverted Montana artist will land in in the teeming urban chaos of Washington DC…completely out of my element.<br />
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A few days ago, I shared the story of a journey that began with a terrible loss resulting in a label of “preexisting condition”. That story, fortunately, did not end with my cancer diagnosis years later…but continues with the worries and fears that many fellow Americans face today.<br />
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My story drew the attention of The American Society Action Network and they are sending me to the Capitol to represent Montana along with survivors from the other states. We are going to share our stories with the people who are about to vote on the GOP healthcare plan, in hopes of bringing compassion back to the mix.<br />
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Since sharing my journey, I have heard others that make mine feel like a walk in the garden with a bluebird on my shoulder. So many Americans have stories of tragedy made worse by the healthcare system (or lack of it) in this country. I have heard from people destroyed by insurance companies, health care costs, and about parents still writing a check every month trying to pay the bills incurred with the loss of a child (or children) decades before. I have heard from doctors, anesthesiologists and other caregivers who insist that no one would ever be given lesser care due to their insurance (or lack there-of)…and from others in the field who admit to serious problems along those lines. I have heard from cancer patients who are forced to jump through hoops to maintain or get coverage when they should be focused on healing and recovery. The system is broken, and has been for a very long time.<br />
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The ACA was created to try bring some of the madness under control…it wasn’t perfect by any stretch, but it was never intended as the be-all and end-all. Rather than fix the parts that don’t work, the GOP wants to repeal it entirely and strip healthcare from a frightening number of Americans. Millions of us will lose access to healthcare under the same plan that will give billions in tax cuts back to the wealthy. Ironically, many of those who stand to lose the most are the GOP’s own constituents, including Americans insured by the ACA who want so badly to get rid of “Obamacare”…and do not realize that they are one and the same.<br />
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For a party that runs on a pro-life platform, it is ironic that the Americans that may be hit the hardest by the GOP version of “healthcare” will be pregnant women and their families. To read over the plan is to be sick at heart thinking of how many Americans will be hurt, if not destroyed, by this travesty of a “plan”.<br />
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For me, personally, the preexisting condition that a complicated pregnancy tagged me with has been replaced with a more ominous one: “cancer”. As a self-employed cancer survivor, the GOP’s AHCA assures that I will not be able to get insurance that is even remotely affordable. As I begin the journey with another health issue, the GOP puts my very life in jeopardy along with countless others.<br />
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The truth is…I don’t want to be here in this airport and certainly don’t want to go to DC. As an introvert, this whole thing goes completely against my grain. I am not a public speaker, certainly not a politician…just an artist/survivor who just wants to live my life and make art. I’d rather be home with my ponies and pets, waking to the birds, digging in the garden, slinging paint at the canvas on my easel and thinking about the next painting.<br />
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The more compelling truth is that I have a story to share, a story with which many Americans can empathize…a story worth telling if it changes the mind of even one of the men about to vote on the AHCA. On Tuesday, I will take a deep breath and step completely out of my comfort zone to stand up for one thing: all of us.<br />
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Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-64743650918212255162016-06-13T13:55:00.001-06:002016-06-13T14:07:49.725-06:00Choose to Love<div class="p1">
Last night I stood on the deck of dreams listening to the chorus of birds singing the day into night. My mind was turning over the tragedy in Orlando. Then I caught a shimmer of setting sun through the aspens by the deck. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsenXH3T6tmAd0L8GMuB_q3VNFBwSr9KepYWxMrIcvQmNr6JPkDjd_7o_RlV5BDVqrRmNGW1Qb_uNxlnsgeN9mA8d-b9IFswK-FeAqX7kwe_1x042fXVlX4twgBDM4BNTlkM1XQ/s1600/Choose+2+Love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPsenXH3T6tmAd0L8GMuB_q3VNFBwSr9KepYWxMrIcvQmNr6JPkDjd_7o_RlV5BDVqrRmNGW1Qb_uNxlnsgeN9mA8d-b9IFswK-FeAqX7kwe_1x042fXVlX4twgBDM4BNTlkM1XQ/s320/Choose+2+Love.jpg" width="320" /></a>When I processed the image, I discovered that bumping the saturation a little revealed the innate rainbow of color in the “green” leaves. </div>
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“White” light is actually a combination of all colors. We see our world only because of the light that falls on it. “Color” is determined by the type of light that is reflected back to our eye from the surfaces we see. When we see “black”, it is because that surface is absorbing the light rather than reflecting it.</div>
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As an artist, I constantly look for the color and light that isn’t immediately apparent. I am captivated by the way surfaces reflect not only the light that strikes them from a source, but also the light that is reflected off the surfaces that surround them. Everything is connected by the light. The more I choose to look, the more colors I see in the world around me. </div>
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The aspen leaves filtered and reflected sunlight and were impacted by the color of the sky and other leaves that reflected off them. A black bear isn’t simply “black”, it reflects the light that bounces off its habitat…the blues of the sky, the browns of rock, greens of the grass and the myriad colors of the light as it finds its way from sun through filters of atmosphere to strike black bear fur.</div>
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On countless levels, I have found there to be a profound connection between art and life. Light connects the elements of a painting and, on a grander scale, represents the interconnectedness of all life. </div>
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Love is like white light…it is made of all colors. Choosing to live with compassion means choosing to see, and actively look for, the less obvious “colors” of those around us. The more I open my mind, the more depth and beauty I see in the people around me. </div>
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We’ve all met people so dark that they seem to suck the light right out of us. We’ve also all met people whose light is so strong they lighten us just by being close. Some of the brightest lights I have met have come from the darkest of places…yet they have chosen to shine. </div>
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We all have within us the capacity for light and dark. We can choose to draw everything into our own darkness or to reflect back the light the falls on us and is reflected from those around us. </div>
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Choose to share the light, choose to love.</div>
Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-27149753710205012242016-05-06T09:21:00.000-06:002016-05-07T09:41:25.169-06:00Come on Baby, Light My Fire<div class="p1">
The Road to Thomasville: Chapter 2</div>
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This morning I woke to a hazy view that reminded me of the Southern mornings of my youth. It seems the smoke from Canada’s tragic fires has found its way into Montana. It is wrong to think that arbitrary lines on maps can separate us…the wind always reminds us that we are one.</div>
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The smoke also reminded me that I needed to share the second chapter in my “Road to Thomasville” series. </div>
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In March, I’d just wrapped up my “Encore Artist” year at Natureworks in Tulsa and decided, rather than work my way home to Montana, I’d head home to Tennessee and then make a little detour. I arrived at Mom’s in Nashville late in the evening on Tuesday and, with Mom joining me, headed toward Thomasville on Wednesday morning. Toward the end of the day, as we rolled through Southern Georgia in the dark, I was fading. The weeks of long painting days, nights of sporadic sleeping in sight of the easel, then days of driving, the show and more driving were catching up. Then I saw the fire.</div>
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Like a moth drawn, I pulled off the highway onto a red clay road and parked next to the burn. The flames licked at the bases of the tall pines and cut winding, jagged lines through the forest. My camera came out and I tried to capture what I was seeing. The headlights of a four-wheeler came toward us and I thought the driver would send us on our way…but it turned into the fire and vanished. I kept taking pictures and watching…burning the experience into my memory.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOpR40l88O3kjJU1I-BuXW92boiGcq8R6YI3vngvWH4h-p_UGl1StwfgUypK0lF1fC0meaKQtRH_ZwVVi66PRdVH54NFHE1GLKb_fAEFYduzOuIl62k_EgiU5xpVyTGEZG0fEstA/s1600/fire+girl+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOpR40l88O3kjJU1I-BuXW92boiGcq8R6YI3vngvWH4h-p_UGl1StwfgUypK0lF1fC0meaKQtRH_ZwVVi66PRdVH54NFHE1GLKb_fAEFYduzOuIl62k_EgiU5xpVyTGEZG0fEstA/s200/fire+girl+1.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Another four-wheeler headed for us and this one kept coming. The driver rolled up and stopped. I expected him to ask us to leave…but I was wrong. With a wide hospitable grin, the driver said “if I had known y’all would be here taking pictures, I’d have built a better fire!”. </div>
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“Oh my”, I thought happily, “I am in the South!”</div>
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The gentleman, whose name I was too tired to remember, went on to explain that he would have made straight fire lines if he’d have known we would be watching. Since the winding arcs of flame had appealed to my artist side, I asked “are crooked lines bad?”. “Oh no”, he laughed “I just like ‘em to look like the seven dwarves, all lined up straight”. </div>
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I thanked him and asked if it was okay to keep taking photos. He said “sure, and you’re welcome to drive or walk in there if you want”. He told us how to get to another burn that was going nearby…and invited us to come back the next day, since they’d still be burning. </div>
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My hosts were waiting for us in Thomasville and I was tired, so I took some more photos and stared into the flames a little longer…then headed on. Thinking that we’d be seeing more burns, I did not go back the next day. Wish I had, if only to get his name.</div>
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Despite the best efforts of some great folks, we never did find ourselves in the midst of a good daytime burn. Perhaps that was as it should be…I’ve seen artists paint burning in the daylight…but I did not remember many, if any, paintings of night burns.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM78qukGllT2O11aAXSssLw3e4sPv4mf8ajvi59O8vPHyqOn0hLO5uRSufUO5k-biifk_LGZR3mVM5c54DR1bLnfCBgzZlnaV8NAFv1XLKAOr2dsH_fsFtE3oMoqzv6YHAzLJzeQ/s1600/fire+girl+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM78qukGllT2O11aAXSssLw3e4sPv4mf8ajvi59O8vPHyqOn0hLO5uRSufUO5k-biifk_LGZR3mVM5c54DR1bLnfCBgzZlnaV8NAFv1XLKAOr2dsH_fsFtE3oMoqzv6YHAzLJzeQ/s320/fire+girl+2.jpg" width="320" /></a>For me, painting is not so simple as seeing something and painting it. I want to experience my subjects, to soak them in and discover what fires up my muse. No matter what the subject, photos are not enough…it is the <i>being there</i> that fuels my work. The time spent discovering, trying to understand and, even, falling in love with my subjects is, hopefully, what lights up my work.<br />
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I’ve always had a serious crush on Thomasville, this trip was about tipping the scale into something more…and there’s nothing like a good fire in the night to spark some passion.</div>
Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-40212695346315734822016-04-07T18:02:00.000-06:002016-04-07T18:06:52.555-06:00The Road to Thomasville: Chapter 1<div class="p1">
Nearly ten years ago, I attended an art show in Thomasville, Georgia for the first time. My first year at the Plantation Wildlife Arts Festival wasn’t spectacular sales-wise (typical of most first appearances at a show)…but there was something very special about the people involved.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEb_kDQz_uTB7mxfNHcINKjf7ZEHmfgjEvUjwoF6L0rgYD7WoLd6feMZqLJjusDylCG8S_yz8-PL35ByFOeed0RS266nQboyqIVIpwDotfttKBFNXC1JqfInGn2KSwbQvpPkuPzA/s1600/T-Ville+-+Version+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEb_kDQz_uTB7mxfNHcINKjf7ZEHmfgjEvUjwoF6L0rgYD7WoLd6feMZqLJjusDylCG8S_yz8-PL35ByFOeed0RS266nQboyqIVIpwDotfttKBFNXC1JqfInGn2KSwbQvpPkuPzA/s400/T-Ville+-+Version+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PWAF 2008</td></tr>
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A year later, I would be back…just a couple of weeks after my cancer diagnosis. It was no surprise that my artist friends embraced me with support, sympathy and priceless good humor. What was a surprise was how many of the folks in Thomasville rallied around…</div>
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Then again, after getting to know them, that is no surprise either.</div>
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A few weeks ago, I was in Yellowstone looking for wildlife when, remarkably, the phone rang. </div>
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It was remarkable because I was passing through one small spot where reception was occasionally possible. The caller was Gates Kirkham, the PWAF show director. He was calling to invite me to be the Featured Artist for the 2016 Plantation Wildlife Art Festival.</div>
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Over the years, I have been the featured artist at several shows…the most recent being Natureworks (Tulsa) in 2015. It is always an incredible honor…but even more so in the case of the Thomasville invite.</div>
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With my Encore Artist appearance at the Natureworks show coming up, I decided to hold off announcing the good news until after my trip to Tulsa. </div>
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As I headed East after Tulsa to see my Mom, a light bulb turned on. I decided to make an impromptu trip to Thomasville to research some paintings for the show. A couple days would turn into nearly a week and I would fill a pile of memory cards…but more about that a little later.</div>
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First things first…I would like to thank some of the people who made my little research trip so much fun (and so inspiring). My Mom, Betty Horton, joined the adventure and was incredibly patient with my long days, early mornings and, often, slow drives as I looked for inspiration. Debbie and Mike Gaskins were kind enough to offer their wonderful hospitality for our stay as well as great conversation, some good connections and the opportunity to see a fabulous cellist perform at Pebble Hill. Marty and Daphne Wood once again allowed me access to their gorgeous Live Oak Plantation and Marty hauled us around with him on the last hunt of the season. Gates Kirkham showed me some bird dogs, dolled up his mules, offered access to his Sinkola Plantation and then tried to get me on a fire. Warren Bicknell was kind enough to allow us to watch some burning on Warbick Farm. Steve Parrish gave us a wonderfully inspiring and informative tour of the Merrily Plantation. Wallace Goodman set us up with a grounds pass for the pebble Hill Plantation. Jim and Ann Lattay invited us to dinner with some delightful guests at their lovely home (and I found some inspiration right in Ann’s gorgeous yard). When I stopped by Kevin’s to try to shoot reference for a painting idea, Kevin Kelly invited me into the *vault*. Kathy Barnett shared a pass to visit the red Hills Horse Trial. Louise Dunlap offered access and Ellen Shine gave us a wild ride of a tour in search of active burning on the Woodfield Springs Plantation. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod-fzWmjCH3UtCTXaAs9bAmKgExw_pBfPFEPh6mj7V93MHjhn7gZZ-ZSDXTSeyI2bg2y_8_0EUiVInSS9t2ATbKIfQMK_9j1f2iP_9-797xnCOroJpE8SVUAhoxMklrlRPA8EjA/s1600/T-Ville.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiod-fzWmjCH3UtCTXaAs9bAmKgExw_pBfPFEPh6mj7V93MHjhn7gZZ-ZSDXTSeyI2bg2y_8_0EUiVInSS9t2ATbKIfQMK_9j1f2iP_9-797xnCOroJpE8SVUAhoxMklrlRPA8EjA/s400/T-Ville.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PWAF 2015</td></tr>
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Last, but not least...<br />
Thank you to the PWAF crew for the honor of being named the </div>
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Plantation Wildlife Arts Festival 2016 FEATURED ARTIST!<br />
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Between now and November, I will be writing about the journey, the inspiration and the art...on the road to Thomasville.</div>
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Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-69285282430225867422016-02-21T09:40:00.002-07:002016-02-21T17:30:46.240-07:00In a Small Moment<div class="p1">
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At first glance, it is a sea of sagebrush…then a remarkably camouflaged predator appears. The coyote’s focus is directed at something in the sage…</div>
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In nearly three decades of wildlife photography, this is one of my favorite photos…in some ways, it tops the list. This photo speaks to me of so many things I love about wild places and the wild creatures that inhabit them. It is a small moment suspended between two creatures, the fleeting segue between the immediate past and the infinite mystery of the future. In this moment ANYthing can happen.</div>
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Driving through Yellowstone one Spring, I looked out to see this coyote moving through the sage…it paused…listened…then focused and froze. That alone was beautiful…then I followed the line of focus to find the ground squirrel, also frozen. Amazingly, in that sea of sage…both predator and prey were visible. They held one another in a stare…</div>
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Take a moment to imagine, if you will, how many encounters like this you drive (or walk) by every single day. These creatures have evolved to dissolve into their environment…and they do it well. Even when we are aware of the camouflage and LOOKING for wildlife, we miss countless encounters like this because we are looking for something else or lost in thought or irritated by that slow driver who will just not use the darn pullout. We miss so many of these moments, in great part, because we are not in the moment.</div>
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Over my ears of observing wildlife, I have seen many interactions between predator and prey. Chases, ambushes, pounces, dodges, captures and narrow escapes…success and failure (the definition of which depends on who you’re rooting for). It is the compelling and tragic and beautiful dance of survival.</div>
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These two creatures held one another’s eyes for what seemed like minutes…then a sound caused the coyote to flick an ear and the spell was broken. In that nanosecond, the ground squirrel vanished. The coyote relaxed and then continued making its way through the sage.</div>
Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12894927.post-9603817994057235332016-02-14T09:25:00.002-07:002016-02-14T14:03:33.206-07:00Jinx!<div class="p1">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4LFZJ-Z4KyU4SDuzJTF2HG8j3QsIAkqOwUPTG8zQF0mOrwpTTwSCDF9lFwXAA_s02aSqdE6nm7JFZedgXPIakBF9OHaMQ4Gg1zz6dYkZe4hGlIpieMuddCi27VvIPxUpTqT7NVg/s1600/IMG_6719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4LFZJ-Z4KyU4SDuzJTF2HG8j3QsIAkqOwUPTG8zQF0mOrwpTTwSCDF9lFwXAA_s02aSqdE6nm7JFZedgXPIakBF9OHaMQ4Gg1zz6dYkZe4hGlIpieMuddCi27VvIPxUpTqT7NVg/s320/IMG_6719.jpg" width="213" /></a>In early June of 2004, I was wandering Yellowstone in search of inspiration. As I drove along the Calcite cliffs above the Yellowstone, I saw a couple photographing from one of the pullouts. The man stood back watching as his blonde companion stood on the rock wall shooting through the trees into the canyon. Being ridiculously shy, I couldn’t bring myself to approach and ask what they were watching…and the trees were too thick to see for myself. I waited for a few moments and then left…but I was intrigued. Several times I drove past and they were still there. As soon as I noticed them gone, I pulled in to have a look.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Z1rB8L-aZMnxXdNvKFd43e2WsMeyI1lvyh2vGr-35Kf8zjYhsEvAKnKZeRMl9F8A7NcYtdG9UVcBRv4lkkhWsiesWT6zbubSOscdLNVi2CpUXJGSXzn74mQjqb35342yk6Yh9A/s1600/IMG_6647.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Z1rB8L-aZMnxXdNvKFd43e2WsMeyI1lvyh2vGr-35Kf8zjYhsEvAKnKZeRMl9F8A7NcYtdG9UVcBRv4lkkhWsiesWT6zbubSOscdLNVi2CpUXJGSXzn74mQjqb35342yk6Yh9A/s320/IMG_6647.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
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Through one small opening in the trees, I could see one of the calcite pillars…and an osprey sitting on top amid a pile of twigs. As I watched, her mate started calling from above and then came in with a branch to add to the nest they were trying to build. My biggest lens at the time was a 300mm and I had no tripod. I stepped up onto the rock wall and started shooting. As I would learn later, they returned and drove by several times figuring that I would quickly lose interest and leave “her” spot. That didn’t happen…despite wicked thoughts flung in my general direction. Focused and fascinated by the osprey pair, I was oblivious when the couple returned….even when the girl stood glaring daggers at my back.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWKl8rOc5-XgQH2AsU4Fnk3S35ABG3Rte-S3lH6IzMQnZVgQf3HzD3o_Ws4SA3va5JflBu1bSK9QlC76UF7W3247865Gxk3Zge7plIZWkY-f9kgMKBNXHDp-1vjaREotoj5px1w/s1600/IMG_6662.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsWKl8rOc5-XgQH2AsU4Fnk3S35ABG3Rte-S3lH6IzMQnZVgQf3HzD3o_Ws4SA3va5JflBu1bSK9QlC76UF7W3247865Gxk3Zge7plIZWkY-f9kgMKBNXHDp-1vjaREotoj5px1w/s320/IMG_6662.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Introvert that I am, I didn’t take my focus off the birds to start a conversation (maybe I could feel the thought daggers, lol). Eventually, the girl realized I wasn’t leaving…so she set up her tripod and began moving closer and closer, finally edging in next to me to aim through a gap barely big enough for the two lenses to shoot through. Without a word, I made as much room as I could and we started photographing the osprey pair together.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzGgL48nbM4emmwc75quUU4V5xWijxbjOb3A3O8_DcQXNGPGd3EDzm4JJHHXUseKU9xi2A5d4B7pVQKMQ4CTH9xKTP3xhPF5n2I58OTn9dQjC3tvf6ipPXyHw8O6GIYnlgso6XYw/s1600/IMG_5233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzGgL48nbM4emmwc75quUU4V5xWijxbjOb3A3O8_DcQXNGPGd3EDzm4JJHHXUseKU9xi2A5d4B7pVQKMQ4CTH9xKTP3xhPF5n2I58OTn9dQjC3tvf6ipPXyHw8O6GIYnlgso6XYw/s320/IMG_5233.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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We’d been shooting for a little while when, suddenly, a third osprey rose from another nest out of sight below as the male we were watching arrived at the nest. They faced one another, suspended above the nest and then lifted into the air, fighting…locking talons, then tumbling toward the river below. Our shutters clicked and when the birds vanished from view, we looked at one another with wide-eyed surprise, simultaneously exclaimed “COOL!” and then started laughing. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlWztK0jSYEhchXD-hAkydgwMt-ws6ZovFWRYhnnr0co8gVCbLzGna9y3YqQZT_SwcmenI7jfjHx0qWKylyA08e0FtnPBKGITzUlJBR5z8GQ0ZnVvLfszLPpOdd2XuPk24KoyVg/s1600/IMG_5234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQlWztK0jSYEhchXD-hAkydgwMt-ws6ZovFWRYhnnr0co8gVCbLzGna9y3YqQZT_SwcmenI7jfjHx0qWKylyA08e0FtnPBKGITzUlJBR5z8GQ0ZnVvLfszLPpOdd2XuPk24KoyVg/s320/IMG_5234.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
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In that moment, a great friendship began. In the nearly 12 years we have known one another since then, Cathy and I have shared some amazing experiences with the wildlife we love. Along the way, we have seen one another through some rough times, as well. We discovered that we shared similar philosophies about so many things…not the least of which being our approach to observing the wild creatures that inspire us.</div>
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This is one of my favorite images, an extraordinary moment captured with the luck of timing. The nearly mirrored osprey remind me of the “jinx” moment (first of many) that sparked a treasured friendship.</div>
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There are so many reasons I choose to find my inspiration in wildlife that is truly wild…and it isn’t always about the animal. Sometimes it is about the people…Lynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256632022217561236noreply@blogger.com0